


The Lincoln Investigation

by accio_yomama



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accio_yomama/pseuds/accio_yomama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So here is my first fic here on AO3, and they rating maybe changed as the story progresses, but we shall see. </p><p>Happy reading.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Lincoln Investigation

**Author's Note:**

> So here is my first fic here on AO3, and they rating maybe changed as the story progresses, but we shall see. 
> 
> Happy reading.

A man sits at a table in a local London diner, the time about noon, newspaper open and in his face. A waitress comes by, and without a single word from the waitress the man at the table says “Tea with two sugars, and perhaps a danish as well.” The waitress, dumbstruck, mouth agape, quickly scrawls down this man’s order and remains there. 

After a moment’s silence, the waitress says “You seem pretty keen to not say a please or thank you.” 

At this, the man folds his newspaper back up, revealing his curly locks under a deer stalker. His neck is wrapped in a purple scarf. “And what makes you so sure that I, a man who has saved various people, needs to offer a waitress, who is barely scraping by on student loans and is approximately twenty-two, a thank you.” The man leans forward onto the table. “Please, humor a man such as myself. And I do like your story.” He grins a bit. 

The waitress sighed and walked into the kitchen. Looking please with himself, the man leaned back into his chair and picked the newspaper back up. He was reading a story on his old flatmate and his words at the man’s funeral. The thought of John Watson, the old flatmate, mourning his, the man’s, death while he is alive and here at a diner humored the man greatly. Sure, John Watson may be up in his depression, but he is a soldier. He knows how to fight well. 

Just as the waitress walked out of the kitchen holding the man’s cup of tea and danish, the man got up and walked across the diner. 

“So you’re just going to leave this cup of tea here?” the waitress called as the man opened the door. 

As the man was halfway through the door, he says, “My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I’ve left many things in many places.” He then leaves, a small skip to his step. 

John Watson was in his flat’s living area. He has been left alone for two years. Sure, Mrs. Hudson occasionally dropped by to say hello, but he never quite felt the same company with Mrs. Hudson as he had with his old flatmate, Sherlock Holmes. 

John Watson sipped his tea. Sherlock never liked the way he made his tea. 

No, John must not keep thinking about the dead, as his psychiatrist has said. 

He gets up, pulls on his coat, and walks out of the front door. As he walks out, Mrs. Hudson catches him.

“Oh, are you at it again, John?” she asks.

“A-at what, exactly?” John replies. 

“Oh you know, going to the police station, as if Sherlock is magically back alive and you will soon meet with him.”

“I-I don’t do that, Mrs. Hudson, I’m just out for a drink.”

“At noon on a Thursday? Oh come on, John.” Mrs. Hudson walked upstairs. “Just this once I’ll do a bit of cleaning, just for you, John, dear.” 

John awkwardly smiled and walked out the door. 

Sherlock headed up the road, and turned onto the police station. He opened the front doors, flashed his ID card, and got let in. 

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was the first to notice Sherlock’s return. 

“Get out,” Lestrade said, whispering. The whole office quieted. 

“Sorry, couldn’t hear you,” replied Sherlock. He furrowed his brow and smiled. 

“I said, get out.” Lestrade was shouting by now. 

“Oh if only you could get rid of me that quickly. I hear that the police force, with me ‘dead,’ has slowly been declining in popularity. And it appears that romantically you aren’t so popular either, judging by your ring being missing on your left hand.” 

Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan then appears out of her office. “Oh look, Freak is back. Greg, I knew we couldn’t trust him.” 

“Oh quiet, Sally,” said Sherlock. “How have you and Anderson bee- oh it appears you guys are married. Judging by your clothing style as of late you seem to be in a stressful marriage with very little benefits. In my two years of passing a lot has changed in here. I don’t like it.” Sherlock walked out of the office, and started to head toward his old flat. 

As he turned a left onto the shop next to 221b Baker Street, he ran into a man. They both stumbled and fell onto their backsides. As they recovered, they each said they were sorry, and Sherlock passed onto his old flat. 

“Wait.” The shorter man of the two sped up and met Sherlock’s gaze. He knocked off the man’s deer stalker, and smiled stupidly. Sherlock immediately recognized the man.

“John Watson,” Sherlock said. He smiled as John sat down on their flat’s stoop. His eyes had a moist glaze over them.

“I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead, Sherlock,” said John. And then John slapped Sherlock. “Never, ever, do that to me again, you stupid detective.” Them Sherlock and John held each other in an embrace. 

“We’ve got some cases to solve, John,” said Sherlock as they walked back into their flat.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first story here on AO3, and any feedback is greatly appreciated. I plan on uploading this every other Monday, and any changes will be announced on the previous chapter.
> 
> Good day!


End file.
